


1 a.m. Fic #9

by redtribution



Series: 1 a.m. Fic [9]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Zavabi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4466795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtribution/pseuds/redtribution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little domestic!Zavabi. Unedited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1 a.m. Fic #9

Without fail, Samar’s internal clock always woke her at four thirty a.m. Despite having moved from time zone to time zone frequently, for some reason Samar always fell into a four thirty waking schedule. Throughout the years, she had lived mostly on her own, and her early rising hadn’t been a problem. Now, however…

Behind Samar, Dembe let out a sigh in his sleep. His breath skipped over her hair, sending strands dancing across her vision. Samar mimicked his sigh. Always busy, Samar wanted to get up and be about her business. However, Dembe was a light sleeper, and she didn’t want to wake him. Resigned to an hour or two of boredom, Samar rolled onto her back to stare up at the ceiling.

The slight shift of the bed was enough. Samar heard a groan next to her, followed by the feeling of Dembe’s nose nuzzling beneath her ear. She smiled as warm breath ghosted over her neck, setting the nerves there on fire.

“Good morning,” she said quietly, turning her head to plant a soft kiss on Dembe’s forehead. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Dembe laughed quietly. “You’re a fool if you don’t think I’m used to it by now.” He scooted away from her then, propping himself up on his elbow. Dembe smiled down at Samar from his vantage point above her before swooping in and planting a deep kiss on her lips. His index finger traced the curve of her waist as he whispered, “Happy six month anniversary.”

Samar’s own face split into a smile at that. Dembe’s brown eyes glittered as the last ghost of sleep fled his face.

“Did you get me anything?” He whispered playfully. Samar and Dembe had agreed that anniversary gifts didn’t serve much of a purpose. They both lead fairly minimalistic lives, and extra possessions weren’t something that either of them wanted in tow.

“Yes,” Samar said, feeling Dembe’s index finger find the curve of her breast. Her heart rate sped ever so slightly. “I’ve put you as my emergency contact at work.” 

“Perfect,” Dembe murmured, planting a kiss on Samar’s cheek, then working his way slowly down her neck…

Samar scooted away and pushed herself out of bed, rising unsteadily due to early morning dizziness. With a teasing glance in Dembe’s direction, she waltzed toward the master bathroom, leaving the door open behind her as she turned the shower on. As Samar stepped under the warm stream, Dembe appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, just as she had expected. He cleared the space between himself and the shower in three long strides, pulling open the glass door and inserting himself into the small space. He lightly grasped Samar’s wrists and pulled them to his chest.

“You cannot escape me so easily, Agent Navabi,” he murmured, placing a gentle kiss on each of her knuckles. Under the steady stream of water, Dembe’s muscular chest stood out in shining, profound detail. Samar’s eyes traveled from his chiseled frame to his gentle expression, and finally to his nimble hands, grasping her own ever so lightly, as though they might break. Her chest tightened with fondness, and something close to fear as she took him in. A desperate feeling stirred inside of her, and she broke his grasp around her wrists, hooked her hands around his neck and pulled him fiercely to her. Their lips mashed together forcefully, and Dembe made a surprised noise in the back of his throat before responding with vigor.

When they finally pulled apart, Dembe chuckled. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Agent Navabi. You have a job to attend.” He reached for her shampoo and squeezed a miniscule amount into his hand before attempting to lather her hair with it. Samar took the bottle from him and squeezed out the correct amount, lathering it up herself. Dembe attempted to take control of the task again by sculpting Samar’s hair into a tower atop her head, grimacing when it fell over. The disappointed look on his face made her laugh, before sending her into sudden, ponderous silence.

Dembe noticed her sudden reticence and pulled back. Before he could open his mouth to ask what was on her mind, Samar fixed him with a piercing, calm gaze.

“We’ve been living together for three months,” Samar began.

“Yes.” Dembe confirmed.

“Why haven’t you told Raymond about us?”

Dembe’s brow furrowed. “You mustn’t think I am ashamed of you. That is not the case.”

Samar didn’t reply, though she hadn’t been thinking anything of the sort. Dembe was so doting, she could never be lead to believe him to be ashamed over her.

Dembe shrugged. “I assumed it was none of his business,” he said, holding eye contact with Samar as was his custom.

Samar hesitated. “Yes, but…”

“What?”

Samar bit her lip. Her instincts had proven trusty over the course of her life. Indeed, the ability to know when to run had kept her alive on many occasions. Right now, her mind warned her to turn back, to not allow herself to become vulnerable. Samar took a deep breath and prepared, for the first time in years, to ignore them.

“I love you,” she said in a rush, though admittedly the words sounded more confident than she felt. A look of shock registered on Dembe’s face. The words hadn’t been uttered by either of them over the course of their entire relationship. Samar was gripped by a sudden fear that he wouldn’t reply. She rushed onward.

“What if something were to happen to you?” She said, her words tripping over one another. “If you were hurt, if Raymond didn’t know to contact me…” she trailed off.

Dembe dipped his head toward her, pausing for a long, tense moment. Finally, he said, “this is important to you.” It wasn’t a question.

Trembling slightly, Samar nodded.

In a flash, Dembe opened the shower door again and rushed out of the bathroom, pausing only to dry the soles of his feet on the bath mat. Curious, Samar shut off the shower and wrapped herself in a fluffy towel before following him into the bedroom.

Dembe met her just outside the bathroom door, a disposable phone pressed to his ear. He kept his eyes trained on her face as the line rang.

“Ah, Dembe,” Samar recognized the chipper voice of Raymond Reddington, barely discernible from her distance, on the other end of the line. “I was wondering when you would call. Tell me, what do you think we ought to do about that Malaysian—”

“Raymond, I have something to tell you,” Dembe interrupted him briskly.

Reddington paused. “Alright,” Samar thought she heard him say.

“I have entered into a relationship with Samar Navabi. If any trouble arises and I am injured or killed, I want you to contact her immediately.”

Samar’s heart rate slowed with relief. She heard Reddington chuckle.

“Surely you didn’t think you were hiding that from me, Dembe? I’ve known since the first night you spent together. Agent Navabi has a _very_ intriguing scent, and from the second I smelled it on you—” Dembe hung up, cutting off Reddington mid-monologue.

Samar and Dembe stared at each other for a moment, tense with emotion. Slowly, Samar approached, setting her hands, palms flat, against Dembe’s chest. J

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Dembe’s large hands rose to cup Samar’s cheeks. “Agent Navabi,” pause. “I love—”

Before he could finish, Samar cut him off. Drawing a finger lightly across his cheekbone, she whispered,

“I know.”


End file.
